


Under A Spell

by Annie46fic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Big Bang Challenge, Bottom Sam, Bottom Sam Winchester, M/M, Magically Induced Amnesia, Mute Sam Winchester, Wincest - Freeform, big bang 2018, slight season 12 spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-05-30 15:22:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15099545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annie46fic/pseuds/Annie46fic
Summary: Sam and Dean are hunting for twenty people who have gone missing in the same area in the last two years; none of them were ever found.  No bodies, no clues.  The only thing Sam has found is three trees in a perfect triangle with sigils painted on each one.  When the Winchesters stumble on the sigils they are sucked into a totally different world.All of  a sudden, Dean is Dean Campbell who has lived in Llepsarednu all of his life;   (Llepsarednu is an odd town, there are no children, no one gets sick and everything is in its place). Dean is a mechanic with a lovely little cabin in the woods, a dog and an easy – if routine - life.  One day he stumbles upon a tall stranger who appears to have no memory and can’t speak.  Dean is instantly drawn to him and he takes him in and hides him from the townsfolk who are insanely suspicious of anyone who isn’t from their town.It is now obvious that both Sam and Dean are under a spell; despite the fact that they appear to be strangers to each other they share a bond and, eventually, they fall for each other and become intimate.





	Under A Spell

**Author's Note:**

> Huge, huge thank you to my wonderful artist [cherie-morte](https://cherie-morte.livejournal.com/). She has been very patient with me, and my wild ideas and English spellings!! Her art is wonderful and illustrates the story perfectly, and it has been a pleasure working with her!! Please go give her the kudos she deserves [here](https://infatuated-ink.livejournal.com/106231.html)
> 
> Finally a huge thank you to the Big Bang mods who do such a good job and make the whole thing a pleasure.

The woods were dark and cold. There was rain dripping relentlessly through the skeleton branches of the trees and leaves crunching underfoot, slippy and dangerous. Sam’s boots were wet and caked with mud, his socks bunched up and damp beneath them. Behind him Dean huffed a curse as he heaved his backpack up onto his back again, and another as he slid across the ground and had to steady himself by gripping a gnarled trunk letting out a grunt of pain as the bark stung his palm.

 

“Remind me why we’re doing this again?”

 

Sam smiled wryly; this reminded him of the werewolf hunt that went south. He recalled too clearly being shot in the gut and the pain and confusion that followed. Subconsciously his hand went to his stomach and he rubbed it. There was still a faint scar there, a few marks where the stitches had been. He knew for a fact that Dean still had the bullet hidden somewhere in his room, a stark reminder of how Sam had _died_.

 

“To find those missing people, Dean.” Sam stretched and cracked his spine. His legs ached from holding them tense, trying desperately not to slip and fall. “Witches, yeah?”

 

“So you say.” Dean stopped for a moment and rubbed a hand angrily through his hair. Droplets of rain trickled down his forehead and onto his cheeks, and his lips looked almost blue in the fading light. “Tell me again about the _witches_.”

 

“In the last two years nearly twenty people have gone missing in these woods, and none of them were ever found. No bodies or clues. All their personal effects gone: cell phones, backpacks, even cars. Nothing has ever turned up. The cops are clueless, and the feds have hit a wall. It has to be something supernatural, doesn’t it?”

 

“The only clue I could find were these signs . . . .” Sam rooted around in his pocket for his cell. He pressed a button and the grainy image he had discovered online flickered into view. Three trees in a perfect triangle with blood red sigils painted on each one. Sam hadn’t recognized any of them, and he’d drawn a blank researching but he was convinced that they meant something. He was also convinced they had something to do with the disappearances. All the Winchesters had to do, was to find them.

 

“I guess.” Dean leaned against one of the trees and looked up into the sky with a frown. “We’re not getting anywhere either, are we? We should maybe stop for a while. Could do with finding some shelter.”

 

Dean had been happy enough to come along; they had been getting nowhere searching for Mom and Jack, and they were both glad to be out in the fresh, albeit wet, air after their seemingly endless incarceration in the bunker. It was a chance for them to work together on a reasonably _simple_ hunt. Sam had made the usual jokes about camping and hiking, and Dean had acquiesced. It was only now that they were deep in the woods that Sam was beginning to regret their decision. 

 

The rain was getting steadily faster now, and Sam shuddered. As usual they weren’t suitably dressed for wet weather, canvas and plaid clinging clammily to their bodies. Sam’s hair was plastered to his head and he was beginning to shiver, unable to stop himself, goose-bumps rising quick on his skin.

 

“I think you’re right,” he replied, wiping the water from his eyes so he could see his brother more clearly. “We should turn back and regroup. We aren’t gonna find anything in this.” He rubbed at his eyes again and shook his head. Dean was still behind him, but he seemed to have stopped, his figure a blur in the teaming rain. “Dean,” Sam’s voice shook a little. “Are you okay?”

 

There was no reply from his brother and Sam felt his heart jolt a little, an odd fear tingling in his gut. He could barely see anything now, but as he moved his head he was aware of somebody or something to his right, and he whirled around, his stomach dropping. 

 

He was standing in the middle of three perfectly shaped trees, sigils glowing in the murky gloom, bathing Sam in a bright red light. He felt his throat close and his mind whirled, spots dancing before his eyes, the rain on his cheeks. For a moment he was suspended in time and space, and then, without warning, he plunged headlong towards the ground, darkness swallowing him and taking him down.

The town of Llepsarednu was, by any definition, tiny; population of 50 souls living in comfortable enough cabins on the edge of the forest. There was a local store, a bar and a church serving the people but mostly the residents looked after themselves and each other. Most of them could trace their history back to the first settlers, sailing over from the old world to the new one. It was a close knit community and one that stuck together through thick and thin, making sure that no one from the _big_ wide world came in to destroy the peace that they had.

 

Dean Campbell was a mechanic; he had learned his trade from his father and his father had learned it from his father before him. He was brilliant with cars, particularly older makes and models, and he had a secret fondness for massive muscle cars, beasts of the road, gas guzzlers and fucking hard to get parts for, but they were something precious in Dean’s eyes and he loved them. Today he was working on a 1969 Chevrolet Camaro, midnight blue and totally awesome. Dean couldn’t help but admit he was already smitten, and he wondered if the owner would be prepared to sell. He glanced at his watch to find it was almost lunchtime, thinking he might just wander on down to the bar and buy himself a burger. He was starving and grease seemed to be the order of the day.

 

****

 

He opened his eyes slowly; it was too bright and everything hurt. For a moment he tried to remember where he was but his mind was like a huge black hole and he couldn’t even remember who he was, let alone anything else. Panic ebbed in and he swallowed, elbows tense behind him as he tried to raise himself up. The world spun and he felt sick and he opened his mouth to moan and then - then everything got worse as he realized that he couldn’t make a sound.

 

Rolling onto his front, he heaved himself up onto his knees and stayed there for the longest of moments, breathing hard through his nose. He appeared to be in the middle of a forest. The trees were bare so it was easy to see through them, and as he looked forward he saw what looked like a small township. Something tingled deep within him. It wasn’t right – the town shouldn’t be there. Fear gripped him irrationally, and he breathed hard again through his nose. Here he was wherever here might be. Whomever he might be. There was a lump in his throat and he tried hard to swallow it down. What the fuck?

 

****

 

Dean’s day ends around 6pm and he strips out of his coveralls and washes himself in the small kitchenette that is attached to his garage. _His garage_ –every time he says it or thinks it, he kind of brims with pride. He loves having his own business, loves being independent. It gives him something that is his, and his alone.

 

He’s an orphan. His dad died before he was born, but he did leave Dean the garage which he had built from the bottom up. He doesn’t remember his mom either, but there are photographs of her in his cabin. Blonde with a big smile, her arms wrapped tight around him. Upstairs in his attic there is a box full of her things, nothing much: a few pieces of paste jewelry, a box with some baby clothes in it and a cheap looking white plaster angel that obviously had some sentimental value. Sometimes - and Dean wouldn’t admit this to anyone - he feels as if there is something missing from his life. Something distant and intangible. Something that he can’t put his finger on. It scares him and frustrates him, it’s the only thing that is wrong with his _seemingly_ perfect life.

 

**** 

 

There is nothing in his pocket, nothing to identify him or give him any clues as to who he is. He still aches all over, but he doesn’t appear to be injured. There are scars on his arms but they are old, worn white with time and his left knee throbs with an old injury. He wobbles to his feet and looks down. He is wearing a grubby red and black plaid shirt, a worn leather belt and ripped jeans. His boots are caked in mud and dark with water, his feet cold and wet. He puts his hand to his head and feels around, but there is no blood or lumps, so he can’t have damaged himself that way. He looked over in the direction of the town but there was something telling him not to go there, and he bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. 

 

So he walked the opposite way to the town and to his surprise and grateful amazement, he found a small cabin. It appeared to be set deep within a clearing, surrounded by small thorn bushes and a broken down wall. It was obvious that no one had lived there for quite a while. The doors were hanging off their hinges and one of the windows was smashed, but it offered shelter so he pushed his way inside, his aching body groaning in protest.

 

There was a living area that led onto a small kitchen and the oven door had been ripped off and the icebox was tipped on its side. The faucets worked though and, although the water was cold, it was clean and drinkable and he gulped it down as if it was nectar, his throat was working convulsively. Through the kitchen there was a bathroom with an old tin bath and a cracked sink. To the right of the bathroom was the one bedroom. The window was broken but there was an actual bed with grubby sheets and a mattress already showing its springs. He didn’t much care about that and he grabbed one of the old sheets, covering the window with it before lying down on the bed, trying to avoid the metal threatening to poke him in his spine. His heart is beating fast and he feels nauseous and weird. He really should be panicking more, or at least looking for someone to help him, but somehow his body refused to obey his mind and he closed his eyes, sleep engulfing him before he can think anymore.

 

****

 

Dean put down his beer bottle and leaned back on the barstool. It was Saturday night and fairly busy considering the town was so small. People were dancing in the middle of the floor and the drone of country music was mingling with the hum of conversation. Most of the townsfolk were out this evening, making merry, and Dean knew every single one. It was an advantage of living in such a small place where everybody got on, and there was never any fighting. The term _love thy neighbor_ could be applied to Llepsarednu. Dean was aware that the rest of the country wasn’t the same; he watched enough TV to see what the world could be like. He was thankful that he lived here in this peaceful place and, most of the time, he was content.

 

There was just this strange feeling, something like a hole inside of him, a gap in his life that couldn’t be filled with classic muscle cars, women, or beer. Once he thought it might be that he wanted a family of his own, maybe a wife and a couple of rug rats. He’d dated, but he’d never found anyone he really liked and, the town being so small, he’d soon exhausted all of his options. Then he’d thought about traveling but somehow he never got over the town limits, never crossed over from Llepsarednu to elsewhere. Now here he was on a Saturday night, full of beer and contentment and yet . . . .

 

****

 

When he next opens his eyes, it’s getting darker and he realizes he needs heat and light. Scrabbling around in what passes for the kitchen he finds a box of matches miraculously saved from the damp and an oil lamp which actually lights on his third attempt. His stomach growls, hunger deep down in his gut, and he can’t even remember when he last ate. Hysteria floats in the back of his brain as he takes deep, deep breaths trying hard to keep calm. There was nothing here to eat, but there’s plenty of cold water so that would have to do til morning. He still feels exhausted, and there is nothing for him to do but go back into the bedroom to lie down. As he passed through the door he saw a broken mirror. It was full length and grimy and, he can actually stand back and stare at his reflection wavering and indistinct in the glass. 

 

He was tall, the top of his head barely visible, and his hair was wild around his face, curling this way and that, hanging shaggy and overlong on his shoulders. There was at least three days’ worth of stubble on his angular face and his cheekbones stood out in stark relief. His eyes slanted above them and, in the darkness, he was unable to work out what color they were. He stared for the longest of time, tried to open his mouth and say something, but he had no voice. A tear, single and unexpected, trickled down his cold cheek and he swallowed. There was nothing about this man he recognized, and it scared the living hell out of him.

Sunday morning bloomed bright and cold, an insistent paw on his cheek woke Dean up and he rolled over to see a foxy face staring back at him. Patch barked once and pawed him again, and Dean sighed exaggeratedly.

 

“Okay. Okay, let me at least have some coffee.”

 

He let the dog out into the backyard while the pot bubbled and then had two strong cups of thick black liquid followed by a bacon omelet that he shared with Patch. The dog was bouncing around his ankles, excited and eager, ready for his walk. Dean put on his coat and boots and wrapped a scarf around his throat. He could see his breath in the air, but the sun was shining and he already knew it was going to be a beautiful day.

 

The forest was a pretty bleak place in winter, the trees were bare and the ground hard and frosty. Dean took his usual path, which wound through where the trees were usually the thickest. Patch darted in and out, sniffing at bushes and picking up sticks, which Dean threw for him. The dog was mostly white with ginger markings and easy to see. He breathed in the fresh air and stretched out his arms. Today was his day of rest and, when he got back from his walk, he had a pot roast and a couch to look forward to.

 

Patch’s sudden fit of barking broke him out of his reverie and he looks up to see the dog standing by, what looked like a wrecked and obviously abandoned cabin. Dean frowned; he couldn’t actually remember ever seeing it before but figured it must have been hidden by the trees. He whistled sharply to bring Patch back, but the dog just kept on barking, pawing at the broken door and making as much noise as was possible for a small dog.

 

“Hey, enough!” Dean walked cautiously over to where Patch was standing. He peered inside, nose wrinkling at the smell of rot and disuse. He could see, even without entering, that the place was a mess, and he wondered if he should contact the town’s maintenance person to get it taken down. Patch continued to bark, high pitched and desperate. “What is it boy? Is there a squirrel in there or something?”

 

He pushed open the broken door and stepped over the threshold as soon as he was inside Patch burst forward and bounded further into the cabin. Dean followed him warily. If there was something wild in here he had to be careful. He didn’t feel like being bitten by anything small and furry. Patch had already rounded another door and Dean crept slowly after him. As he stepped into the second room his breath caught in his throat and he leaned against the wall, heart beating double time, shock vibrating through his body.

 

There was a man on the bed, long and lanky, feet hanging off the end, toes bare and almost blue with cold. The man’s torso was hidden under an old, ragged blanket but his arms were exposed and Dean could see the muscle flex beneath pale skin. He moved as close as he dared and peered over into the man’s face. His eyes were closed and his cheekbones flushed pink with, what looked like, a nasty fever. His chest moved up and down as he puffed out strained breaths, and Dean realized he was going to have to do something.

 

There was no hospital in town, just a small, functional medical center that was located at the rear of the general store. No one seemed to get sick in Llepsarednu, and, apart from the usual childhood complaints, Dean had never been sick a day in his life. He didn’t know anyone who had suffered anything more than a cold and, ever cautious drivers, he‘d never heard of anyone having a car accident either. It had never struck him as strange until now, and he found himself staring hard at the stranger wondering just what the hell he was going to do. 

 

Finally, he made a decision; he would try and get the stranger back to his cabin and take it from there. He guessed there would be a hospital in one of the towns outside of Llepsarednu and he could probably call 911 and get some medics out. Either that or he could go and get the doctor from the medical center. Yeah, that seemed like a good idea. Now the only problem was how the heck he was going to get this guy to his cabin in the first place. He couldn’t drive through the trees, and it was obvious that the guy wouldn’t be up to walking. He was big too, and Dean didn’t think he was strong enough to manage a fireman’s carry. As he debated his options, he stared at the guy and then, to his shock, the guy’s eyes flew open.

 

Speckled hazel stared up at him in fuzzy confusion and his mouth opened and then closed again, his throat working frantically. There was panic in his eyes now, and he reached out to grab Dean’s wrist. The grip was weak, fingers shaking, and Dean felt a stab of sympathy.

 

“It’s okay,” he said, softly, trying to keep him calm. “I won’t hurt you.”

 

Patch sniffed at his feet and whimpered and the stranger lifted his head a little; he looked confused more than anything, cheeks still flushed but eyes bright enough.

 

“How do you feel?” Dean spoke directly into the guy’s line of sight. It appeared that he wasn’t able to speak, so it might follow that he was deaf too. The guy stared at him and swallowed as if he was trying to work out a way to answer. After a moment he shook his head, long fingers letting go of Dean’s wrist to point to his throat. “Can’t you speak? I promise I won’t hurt you. Do you think you can walk?”

 

The man nodded and sat up unsteadily and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. As he rose to his feet, Dean was forced to look up and up - shit, the man was tall. Despite his general appearance there was something harmless, hell even vulnerable, about the man and Dean felt his stomach shift. He felt a strange need to help him pulling at his heart.

 

“My cabin is about half an hours walk away. If we take it slow do you think you can make it?”

 

The man stared at him again; he looked out of the broken window in the direction he thought the town was and he shook his head vehemently. His throat was working again, his mouth opening and closing. Dean felt both frustration and sympathy and he put his hand on the man’s arm.

 

“You don’t need to worry or be scared. When we get to my cabin you can have something to eat. We’ll clean you up and try to find out who you are.” He tried a grin, hoping it was reassuring. “Okay?”

 

The man seemed to waver, glancing first out the window, and then at Dean. He paused for a moment wobbling dangerously and then he nodded and put his hand over Dean’s with a firm nod. Dean felt relief surge through him, and he put his arm around the man’s waist to help steady him.

 

“Okay then,” he said and smiled. “Let’s go.”

Something made him feel like he could trust this man. He’d woken up disorientated to find concerned green eyes staring down at him, and he’d freaked out a little. The man had offered to take him back to his cabin, which meant taking him back towards the town. He’d hesitated for a moment because there was something about that town that scared him, something at the edge of his consciousness that suggested danger, but the man seemed determined and he felt too weak to protest.

 

It was a long stagger back to the man’s cabin, and when they finally got there he felt exhausted and worn down. The man spoke softly and kindly to him all of the way, and it comforted him. It made him feel safe.

 

His helper’s cabin was cozy and the floor beneath his feet felt warm. There were fur rugs scattered on the wooden flooring and a big, squishy-looking couch in the corner. A huge widescreen TV was attached to the wall, and there were ornaments and what looked like family photographs on the shelves. A dog cushion was placed in front of the fireplace and the small ginger and white terrier bounded in and laid on top of it sighing happily. 

 

“Take a seat.” The man’s gentle hands lowered him to the couch. “My name’s Dean,” he continued. “What’s yours?”

 

He shook his head, eyes stinging; even as he opened his mouth he knew nothing would come out and, even if he could speak, he couldn’t tell Dean his name, because he didn’t know it. He didn’t know anything. 

 

Picking up on his unease and panic, Dean said, “Let’s try something else.” Dean moved over to the corner desk and picked up a pen. He fumbled in the drawer and brought out a sheet of white paper. “Here.” Dean placed the pen into his trembling hands and the paper in front of him. “Can you write?”

 

He thought for a moment and then nodded. Holding the pen in his right hand, he put it to the paper. His script was wobbly but readable, and he could have cried with relief. Slowly he began to write, thirteen words that said everything.

 

_I don’t know my name. I can’t speak, and I can’t remember anything._

 

Dean’s face fell and his expression was one of concern. 

 

“You really can’t remember anything?”

 

The man shook his head and pointed back to the written words, his stomach was churning, sickness roiling in his gut. He didn’t know what was going to happen next, but he wouldn’t be surprised if Dean just threw him out of his cabin and let him fend for himself.

 

“Do you need to see a doctor? There’s a very small medical center in town.”

 

_NO!_ His refusal was vehement and he wrote it again, letters large, firm and underlined. _NO!_.

 

“Okay then,” Dean’s smile was small and tentative. “No doctor. You look pretty sick though. Let me make you something to eat, and you can have a shower or a bath. Maybe a shave if you’re up to it.” 

 

He nodded gratefully, amazed that this man was prepared to help him. He found himself being helped to his feet and shown into a large bathroom with a huge free standing bath and a walk in shower. The towels hung over a towel rack, white and fluffy, and he felt as if this was a luxury that he had never had. Something deep in his mind scratching at his memory, distant pictures of scruffy rooms with mold on the walls and uncomfortable beds.

 

“I’ll go and get you a change of clothes. The pants might be a little short, but you can’t stay in those.” He smiled before adding, “I’ll leave you to your privacy, make yourself at home.”

 

Once Dean left he stripped quickly, relieved to get the shabby and dirty clothes off his back. He stared down at a body he didn’t recognize, pale and covered in tiny moles. There was a small scar over one of his pectoral muscles and a thick patch of hair across his chest. There were other scars too, one large on his thigh, another above his right hip and, most disturbingly, a large dent on the lower part of his spine where it looked as if he had been stabbed. He licked his lips and lowered himself onto the toilet seat and buried his head in his hands. What sort of person was he? What sort of life had he led before this one to have so many scars? It scared him. It scared him more than not being able to remember, and he shivered, his mind searching desperately for something, anything to give him a clue.

 

****

 

Dean found himself pacing up and down as he waited for the guy to come out of the bathroom. He was wondering just what he was going to do next. The wrinkled up paper with the guy’s frantic writing lay on the table in front of him, and he shook his head to clear it. The stranger didn’t want to see a doctor, but Dean was pretty sure that he should. Memory loss on top of his general condition was something to be concerned about, and Dean didn’t want to end up with a really sick man in his cabin, especially if he could do something about it.

 

There was a creak and he turned to see the guy standing just outside of the bathroom door. He was wearing the t-shirt and sweatpants Dean had given him, and they looked a little tight. Despite his condition, the man was deceptively muscular, his body lean with long legs, the sweatpants barely touching his bony ankle. He looked a little younger clean shaven but perhaps not much younger than Dean. His face was thin and a little too pale, his cheekbones sharp, a dimple in the cleft of his chin. His eyes were slanting, exotic and they seemed to change color even as Dean looked at them green to blue to brown to speckled hazel. He caught Dean staring and his cheeks smeared pink. He opened his mouth for a moment and then closed it again, eyes flickering with frustration.

 

“You look better,” Dean said, gesturing to the couch, and the man lowered himself down onto it slowly. He reached for the pen and paper and started to write.

 

_Thank you. I feel better_

 

“Are you hungry?” Dean’s own stomach rumbled. It was nearly 4pm on a Sunday, and he usually would have eaten by now. He had planned on making a pot roast, but there was a ham in his ice box and he was certain he had enough vegetables and potatoes to feed two. The man nodded enthusiastically and, for the first time, a shy smile showed up tiny dimples in his cheeks. Dean swallowed, embarrassed to be noticing such things, especially on a guy. “I’ll get something started,” he said and gestured to the kitchen feeling stupid. “You just – um – make yourself at home.”

 

He puttered around for a while, put the meat in the oven, the veggies on the stove. Patch barked at his ankles and he fed him – again – then he poured out two huge glasses of juice and took them back into the lounge.

 

The man had fallen asleep on the couch. His face was pale against the vibrant red, and his long hair hung in his eyes. He looked so young and so fucking vulnerable and Dean felt something alien pull at his gut, his heart thumping hard in his chest. Swallowing he leaned forward and shook the man’s shoulder gently.

 

“Hey.” He made sure he was smiling and hoped it looked reassuring. “I brought you something to drink.”

 

The man stared at him gratefully and took the glass. He drank quickly, throat working and, when the glass was empty, Dean took it from him and filled it back up. 

 

They sat on the couch in silence until eventually Dean took the remote and turned on the TV. Beside him the man shuffled to get comfy and he smiled again, shy and tentative, as Dean found a _Die Hard_ marathon and left it on. For some reason, it seemed so oddly natural to be sitting next to this mysterious guy watching Bruce Willis kick ass. Dean had never really shared his life with anyone but Patch before, and he wondered why he felt so comfortable with this stranger, a man who had no name and no history, a man who could very well be some sort of serial killer. Dean shook himself and laughed internally. Somehow that didn’t seem possible. Whoever this man was, Dean knew intrinsically that he could trust him and that that was the oddest thing of all.

 

****

 

The smell of ham made his stomach growl and he couldn’t help but wonder how long it had been since he’d eaten. His savior – Dean – had laid the table and now he was putting the finishing touches to the meal. He couldn’t help but watch Dean as he worked, fascinated somehow by this man who had trusted him enough to bring him into his home. 

 

He stared out of the window for a moment. It was growing dark and, in the distant town, the lights were starting to flicker on. The town should feel homey given its size but there was a vibe about it, it made him feel scared, oddly vulnerable. It might take more than words on a piece of paper to actually explain how frightened he was. 

 

“You ready to eat?” Dean gestured to the table, and he got up. His mouth was watering now and he virtually fell onto his plate, unable to resist shoveling the food down. He heard Dean laugh, and he felt his own lips curve into a grin, a peculiar contentment making him feel better than he had – well – since waking up with no memory and no voice. He ate until his stomach felt full, and he felt drowsy again. 

 

Dean took the empty dishes into the small kitchen. There was something oddly domestic about it all, and he yawned, wanting nothing more than to sleep.

 

“You can stay here tonight.” Dean gave his shoulder a quick squeeze. “I’ve got a spare bed, and there’s plenty of room. We’ll see how you feel in the morning, and then . . . .” His face scrunched up into a frown, “Then we’ll take it from there, okay?”

 

He nodded gratefully. There was nowhere else for him to go right now. He had no idea where he came from or where he was going. He didn’t know how old he was even, and the black hole in his mind was making him feel sick and scared. Dean was watching him closely, and he tried to make an effort for his sake. He got to his feet and wobbled precariously, Dean having to grab his arm to hold him upright. He was scared of feeling ill, extraordinarily terrified of having to go into the town. He let Dean guide him into a small, cozy looking room with a huge, welcoming bed and a window that overlooked the forest. Dean helped lay him down, and he closed his eyes for a moment breathing deeply.

 

“I need to call you something, Dean whispered. “I can’t just keep thinking of you as _that guy_.”

 

He opened his eyes and shook his head; he had no idea what his name was and, at the moment, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

 

Dean was scratching his chin in contemplation, green eyes observed him, curious and bright.

 

“I think I’m gonna call you John,” he said and shrugged. “It was my dad’s name. I never knew him, never got to speak to him – so I guess it’s nice to use his name.” He flushed.

 

_John_ It was as good a name as any and, strangely, it resonated with him. He smiled and nodded to show his approval and was rewarded with a huge, shit-eating grin in return. 

 

“Go to sleep now, John.” Dean patted his chest awkwardly. “I’m not gonna tuck you in.”

 

He felt a laugh bubble up in his chest, and he lay back feeling warm and happy. Sleep was taking him down and he let himself go, relaxed and safe for the first time in who knows how long.

Dean woke up to Patch barking, he mumbled something to the dog and rolled out of bed. His watch told him it was just after 6am and not worth going back to sleep. He had a lot of work to do, so he had to get to the garage early. He threw on a pair of sweatpants and went to let Patch out. While the dog did his business and gamboled around the garden, Dean went into the spare room to check on John. He was still asleep. He looked so comfortable and peaceful that it would be criminal to wake him. Instead, Dean tucked the blanket firmly around John’s chin, feeling stupid and sappy. Then he got out the pen and paper and wrote a short note.

 

_Gone to work, make yourself at home. Eat breakfast and watch some TV. We’ll talk – well write – when I get back._

 

He placed the note where he was sure John would see it and got washed up and ready to leave. 

 

He patted Patch on his way out the door and said, “Take care of John.” The dog barked obediently making Dean laugh.

 

Dean usually walked to the garage; he had a car of his own but it was a small Prius and the car of his dreams. He avoided driving it and preferred to walk even in bad weather. He guessed it was because he always wanted to own a muscle car, maybe a big black one. He often dreamed of driving down the longest highway with the windows rolled down and some sort of rock music blasting out. Sometimes he wondered where these dreams came from as he’d never really driven anywhere but in town. 

 

He unlocked the garage and went inside and within five minutes he was changed into his coveralls and ready for action. 

 

**** 

John awoke to the dog licking his face. The tan and white patch Russell looked as if it were grinning at him, and he shook his head with a laugh. He felt rested, better than he had been, and he sat up, stretching out his muscles. 

 

There was a note on the table next to him. He read it quickly and laughed again. Dean seemed to be an awesome and caring person, and he was fortunate to have someone like that find him. He got out of bed and decided to take another shower. Dean had told him to make himself at home, and he would. He felt at peace here and, secretly, he hoped he wouldn’t have to leave anytime soon.

 

He ate breakfast staring out of the window at the forest and try as he might, he couldn’t remember anything. It was as if he were new born, his life starting from this moment. It should have worried him more than it did but he always felt safe here. He felt as if everything would be alright unless he had to go into town.

 

He wandered around the cabin, resisting the temptation to snoop. There were photographs on the mantle: a pretty blonde woman with a child in her arms, a gruff looking marine with dashes of gray in his beard. He guessed these were Dean’s parents and, for a moment, he wondered if he had a family somewhere, a mom and dad who might be looking for him. He sighed. He had no idea where he came from and he knew, deep down, he ought to find out if anyone missed him. He looked out of the window at the town in the distance and he shuddered. He had no idea why it scared him, but it did, and he turned away and sat down on Dean’s couch, head spinning, and mouth dry.

 

****

 

“Afternoon, Dean, the usual?”  
Polly was a sweet girl and always smiling. She shook out her blonde hair and gave him a wink. Dean grinned back and nodded. He always came to this bar for lunch, they did the best burgers in town, and he never felt the need to go out of town to McDonalds or some fried chicken place. Like most people, he was content to stay in Llepsarednu.

 

It was his home, and he couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.

 

“Yeah – extra onions.” He leaned back on the stool. “And a large shake – it’s too early for beer.”

 

“Coming up.” She turned away, wiggling her hips temptingly. Dean watched her with a tinge of regret. They’d dated for a while, but she hadn’t been what he was looking for. In fact, he had never really found anybody who suited him. It was a shame, but that was how it was. He might have a family one day and knowing this town as he did he had plenty of time for that to happen.

 

“Thought I’d find you here.” 

 

Dean turned to see Eric the local Sheriff. He had a pretty easy job, seeing as the crime rate here in Llepsarednu was – well – nil. No robberies, no murders, not even traffic violations. Obviously there had to be laws. The town wasn’t awful keen on outsiders, and the few that had stumbled on the place had been sent packing pretty quickly. Dean could understand; it was a small town with big values, and there was nothing wrong with that. 

 

“Yeah, well, it’s good to be predictable,” Dean said and gestured for the man to sit. 

 

Eric was big and burly. All of the men in town were in peak condition, fit and healthy. Dean couldn’t recall seeing anyone over the age of forty but, again, it didn’t faze him. There was a home in the hills where the elderly went to be cared for. He’d heard it was pretty cool up there, and he guessed there would be a place for him when the time came.

 

“Wanted to ask you something,” Eric said, smiling and showing perfect teeth. “You see anyone around here that you don’t know?”

 

“What?” Dean’s heart jolted and his thoughts turned to John. He took a large swallow of his shake and let his eyes play over the bar. It was quiet, only a few people having their lunch, and he watched them for a moment, wondering how honest he should be.

 

“You know, a stranger. Someone who doesn’t bel . . . who isn’t local.”

 

Dean was silent for a moment. He tried to keep his expression neutral while his mind was working overtime. He had no reason not to tell Eric about John. Eric was a good guy who would help. He could probably give John some assistance and help him find out who he was and where he came from. 

 

“No Eric, can’t say I have. I’ve been home alone all weekend, just me and Patch, but I guess he doesn’t count.”

 

Eric laughed and slapped his thigh.

 

“No, Patch is a trusted member of the community.” He shook his head. “Well I’m glad you haven’t seen anyone. We were just a little concerned because Sally thought she’d seen someone in the forest around her cabin, but maybe she imagined it. You know what a worrywart she is.”

 

“Yeah.” Dean nodded. Sally was Eric’s wife, and she did have a tendency to worry. At least once a month she reported seeing strangers up around her cabin, but no one else had ever seen anyone or at least not until now. “It’s all quiet on the western front, Eric. No cause for concern.”

 

“Well, you’ll let me know if anything changes.” Eric got to his feet. “I can rely on you, can’t I, Dean?”

 

“Oh yeah,” he replied, and realizing it was the first time he had ever lied about something. “You can rely on me.”

 

****

 

John heard the key in the lock and turned to see Dean standing in the hallway, the dog going crazy around his feet. 

 

“Hey.” Dean’s smile wavered a little. “How are you feeling, John?” He paused for a moment and laughed amusingly. “One nod for okay, two for shit.”

 

John nodded once and reached for his pen and paper.

 

_I’ve been fine. I helped myself to some salad. Hope you don’t mind._

 

“No.” Dean scanned the paper. “I think I can cope.” He glanced over to the kitchen and said, “I don’t feel like cooking. I thought I might order takeout. The bar does excellent Chinese food and they deliver . . . if you like it, that is.”

 

John nodded again. He was afraid to admit he had no idea what Chinese food tasted like. If he had ever had it then, he’d forgotten, just like he’d forgotten everything else. Fear stabbed him again and he gulped it down. For all he knew he might have allergies and might do himself harm eating something he shouldn’t. Shit! Shit! He felt panic rise in his gut and he clasped his hands together to stop them from shaking. 

 

“Hey.” Dean’s voice was soft, his hand firm on John’s shoulder. “You look like you’re on the verge of freaking out. I guess it must be hard for you not knowing things. Don’t worry though.” He squeezed John’s shoulder and gestured that they sit on the couch. John lowered himself carefully down, Dean right next to him, thighs pressing close together. “I’ve been thinking, and – well – there’s room enough here for you to stay. I know you don’t want to go into town, and that’s okay. They don’t – um – take too well to strangers anyhow. You can stay here awhile. For as long as it takes. Hopefully your memory will come back soon enough, and if not – if not we’ll figure something out then.”

 

John felt almost weak with gratitude. He slumped back and closed his eyes, trembling fingers reaching for his pad. When he felt confident enough, he took the pen in his hands and scribbled quickly.

 

_Thank you._

 

Dean smiled at him, arm still around John’s shoulder and body a long line of warmth against his own. “You’re welcome John.”

Dean didn’t know why he was doing this. He had _welcomed_ this stranger into his home with no knowledge of who he was and where he might have come from. That night, while John slept, Dean fired up his laptop and searched for people missing in the past few weeks. After that search brought up nada, he extended it to the last couple of months but still nothing. There was no one of John’s age or description reported missing, and Dean was none the wiser. He began a search for escaped criminals, but to his relief that threw nothing up either. Finally, exhausted and ready for his bed, he turned off the laptop and gave up. With a touch of good fortune John’s memories would come back, and they would be able to laugh about all of this and maybe even go for a beer.

 

Despite the fact he was really tired, Dean found it hard to sleep. Patch huffed and puffed, fidgeting around on the end of the bed, and it disturbed him more than it would normally. His mind wouldn’t stop whirling, odd and disjointed thoughts playing through his memories. Where did John come from? What was wrong with him? Why were Eric and his wife, and the rest of the town for that matter, so worried about strangers? When he did finally fall asleep, his dreams were vivid and confusing, and he woke at first light feeling like crap. For the first time in – well, ever – he decided to give himself the day off, and he rolled over in bed, pulling the sheets over his head and closing his eyes.

 

He dreamed that he was riding down a long, endless highway in a big black Chevy, the sort he’d always wanted to own. Rock music was blasting out from an old tape deck and the windows were down, cool air against his skin. This time though, he wasn’t alone. There was someone in the passenger seat; he could see them, a dark figure out of the corner of his eye. He couldn’t quite make out who it was, but he was somehow comforted by their presence. They belonged there next to him, a misplaced part of the puzzle, and he tried desperately to see who it was, wanting to know just who or what was missing from his life. 

 

He woke with a start and looked at his alarm. It was past ten, and the longest he’d slept in ever. Patch was still sound asleep, and he gave the dog a shake, climbing out of bed on wobbly legs. His stomach was rumbling, and he staggered into the kitchen to find John sitting at the breakfast bar eating toast.

 

“Hey,” he said and forced a smile, letting the dog out before there was an accident. “You feeling okay?”

 

John nodded, pushing a piece of paper forward.

 

_Are you okay?? You were up late. I was worried._

 

“Yeah.” Dean’s second smile was more genuine. “I had a rough night and decided to have a rare sick day. I can do some extra work tomorrow to catch up, but I felt like I just needed a break.”

 

John returned his smile. He finished off the toast and ran the plate under the faucet to clean it. He gestured to the toaster oven, and Dean realized he was offering to make breakfast. His stomach rumbled again.

 

“I’m ready to eat if that’s what you’re asking.”

 

John laughed then, deep and low. Dean’s gut rolled a little and he wondered what John’s voice might sound like. Would it be gruff or light? What would his accent be? There was something warm blossoming inside of him, and he couldn’t help but respond to John. Despite not knowing anything about the guy, he liked him. He liked him a lot, and it disturbed him a lot less than it should have.

The sun was high in the clear blue sky, and Dean decided he needed some fresh air. Patch was beside himself with joy at having Dean here on a weekday, and the dog was always up for a walk.

 

“I’m gonna take Patch out, you wanna come?”

 

John frowned and stared out of the window. Dean noticed his hands were shaking a little, and he moved forward to squeeze John’s shoulder.

 

“You don’t have to worry. We don’t go anywhere near town. You’ll be safe with me.”

 

John paused for a moment and then he scribbled something down on his notepad, tongue out in concentration.

 

_Okay. Do you have a spare jacket I can wear?_

 

“Yeah,” Dean replied hunting through his coats and pulling out an old canvas thing that had always been too big for him. “It’s not exactly in fashion but . . . .”

 

John snatched it from him with a look of pure joy on his face, and Dean felt an answering thrum of happiness. This was right somehow, the two of them together like this. It just felt right.

 

****

 

John followed Dean along the worn path, the dog bouncing beside him. Despite the chill it was a lovely sunny day, and John tipped his face up so he could feel the sun on his skin. Regardless of everything happening to him, he felt happy. He knew deep down he should be concerned, terrified even but, here, with Dean nothing mattered. It felt good, and right, that they were together. Something in the back of his brain pinged, and he felt as if he had done this before. A fleeting memory of being with Dean, walking behind him and working towards some sort of important purpose popped into his head. He didn’t know if it was a fake memory or a vague hope, but it warmed him and made him feel comforted. Dean wasn’t going to hurt him or make him do something he didn’t want to do.

 

“It’s a nice day, isn’t it?” Dean turned and grinned at him and he nodded his assent. Dean’s expression told him that he looked as happy as he felt and he wished he could speak. He wished he could tell Dean exactly how he was feeling. “Yeah, the weather is always nice around here. Sometimes it’s like you are in paradise.”

 

John nodded; he got it, he did, but the roiling in his gut told him differently. There was something not right about this place, about the whole set-up. He couldn’t put it into words – literally – but it disturbed him and it warred with the way he felt when he was with Dean.

 

“I’m gonna look on the computer when we get home, Dean’s voice broke into his reverie. “Going to see if I can find anything about you. It’s weird to be honest, ‘cause we don’t get any strangers here. No one from out of town.”  
John stared at him. He wanted to say, _’Don’t you think that’s strange?’_ but he couldn’t. He couldn’t express himself in any way, except putting pen to paper. 

 

“I’ve lived here all my life.” Dean was still talking, musing really. “And I’ve never met anyone from out of town. All the produce in the stores is homegrown. All the beer in the bar is brewed by one of our residents. Sally cooks the food at the bar, and Lea makes the Chinese. Even the chocolate and candy is produced here. I never thought about it before but doesn’t that seem a little, you know, inexplicable?”

 

John nodded enthusiastically. It was as if Dean could read his mind. It was bizarre - in fact it _was_ downright inexplicable. Trouble was he couldn’t express the way he felt, and he was too fucking scared to actually go into town and investigate. 

 

“I guess all small towns are the same,” Dean said seeming to reason with himself. “Don’t you think?”

 

John shrugged exaggeratedly. No, he didn’t think all small towns were the same. Not that he could remember visiting any, but he was sure that if he had they wouldn’t have made him feel as uneasy as this one did. 

 

“We should go back. I don’t know about you but I’m hungry.” 

 

If Dean had been disturbed, he appeared to be okay now, and John wondered how he’d managed to change his own mind in less than a minute. He gave Dean a smile and nodded. Yeah, he could eat and then, perhaps, Dean would let him use the laptop for his own investigations because he wanted – no needed – to get to the bottom of this even though he didn’t know why.

John had to find out more about himself. He waited until he knew Dean was asleep, and then he crept downstairs and opened up the laptop. He knew that Dean had already done some extensive research and looked for missing persons, but he had a suspicion that – like everything else – the internet was limited to this small town. He had no idea how he was going to get beyond that, but there was a persistent niggling in the back of his mind, the germ of an idea. Perhaps, he mused, he had been good at this at one time.

 

The laptop fired to life. Dean’s wallpaper was a picture of Patch, and it made him smile. Obviously Dean had no security concerns as the laptop wasn’t locked and there was no password to get onto the net. John felt bad using it without permission but it needed to be done. As he had suspected, the brightly colored pages related to Llepsarednu, and it was impossible to surf away from the site. It was little wonder that Dean’s _search_ hadn’t turned anything up. He sighed and clicked his teeth, pondering. He had to find some way to get _out_ of this site and on to another but, at this moment, he couldn’t think clearly. He already felt guilty doing this behind Dean’s back so, he turned off the laptop and returned to his bed.

 

As he lay there trying to sleep, he couldn’t quite decide why he had stopped instead of pursuing it further? He was still trapped here with no knowledge of who he was or where he came from or what he might have done to end up here with no memory. All he had was Dean but that, for now, appeared to be enough.

 

****

 

Dean went to work early leaving his usual note for John. It was another bright winter’s day and he was ready to sink into his workload. However, as he approached the garage, his heart sank. Sally, Eric’s wife, was standing next to the door looking determined and he forced his mouth into a smile, wondering what the hell she might want so early.

 

“Car trouble, Sally?” He congratulated himself on sounding so calm and easy going and Sally managed a small smile.

 

“No, my car is fine.” She pushed her red hair away from her face and narrowed her green eyes. “I just needed to speak with you.”

 

“Come in.” He unlocked the door and stepped back so she could follow him in. “I’ll make us some coffee.”

 

She came into the small room he jokingly called his office and sat down. She was a striking woman, still in her prime, with curly red hair and pale skin, always well dressed, make-up faultless day and night. Like all of the women in Llepsarednu, she was attractive, with a flawless complexion and the perfect body. He guessed it must be the fresh air and healthy living and, like everything else, he never questioned it.

 

“What can I do for you, Sal?” He put the coffee pot on and opened the blinds. There was plenty of work for him to do, so he didn’t want to spend too much time talking.

 

“Tell me honestly, Dean.” She bent forward, head to one side. “Have you seen anyone around here? Any strangers that don’t belong . . . that aren’t local.”

 

“Eric asked me that the other day, Sally, and the answer is still the same.” He kept his voice even, his expression neutral. “No. No I haven’t seen any strangers.”

 

“Are you sure?” She smiled tightly. “Because I’ve heard differently.”

 

“Well, whatever you’ve heard – you’ve heard wrong. I’m damn certain there are no strangers here.”

 

“So you wouldn’t object to Eric coming up to your place? Just to make sure.”

 

“No,” he replied and inwardly complimented himself on his cool demeanor. “I wouldn’t mind, not at all. But not today ‘cause I have a lot of work to do. Tomorrow, maybe?”

 

“Tonight, after work,” she said and nodded to herself, decision made. “He’ll collect you and take you back in the squad car.”

 

“Okay.” Dean smiled. “But I’ll have to see you out now, or else my clients are gonna get angry that their cars aren’t finished.”

 

“Of course.” She gave him another tight smile and got to her feet. He watched as she walked away. 

 

Shit!

He could hear the trilling of a cell phone, and he opened his eyes, startled. He managed to fall out of bed and stagger towards the sound. For a moment, the ringing stopped and then it started up again almost instantly. He stumbled into the room where the noise seemed to be coming from. For a moment he felt like an intruder, and he almost turned back out again, but the insistent tone from the cell kept him moving.

 

He found the phone in a drawer under some socks. It was a small, cheap looking object - obviously a spare. He picked it up and clicked answer, holding it to his ear and wondering if he was doing the right thing.

 

“John.” Dean’s voice was tinny and alarmed. “You need to get out of the cabin now! I’m sorry, and I’ll explain it all later. I know you won’t be able to respond to this but please just go. Take my coat and a blanket. Take some food, and go and hole up in the cabin where I found you. Stay there until I come get you. You’ll be safe, I promise.”

 

There was a deep intake of breath and then a beeping which indicated Dean had hung up. John stared at the cell for a long time and then he burst into action, following Dean’s instructions to the letter. He didn’t know what had happened, but it must be serious to panic Dean like that, and the tingle of fear that often assailed him when he thought of the town beyond Dean’s home turned into a full on attack.

 

****

 

The cabin was the same as he had left it, but at least now he had ways to keep warm and some food so he wouldn’t go hungry. He had no idea how long he was going to be hiding away up here, and it made him feel lost and vulnerable. He huddled into the blanket he had brought from Dean’s bedroom and closed his eyes. The blanket smelled of Dean’s aftershave, and his dog, and the very scent of it brought a lump to his throat. He had become far too fond of Dean, but he couldn’t help it. He wanted – no - he needed, to have Dean close. Although he didn’t understand why he felt like that, he just knew it felt right.

Eric drove Dean to his door and waited while he turned the key. Dean’s heart was pounding hard, but he was trying to keep his breathing even. He had no idea if John had followed his instructions, but he had to hope and pray that he had. He could hear Patch scrabbling at the other side of the door as he flung it open with a flourish, as if he had something to prove.

 

There was no one in the house. Eric walked around and went into each room, Patch at his heels. Dean watched him search and tamped down his anger. Eventually Eric stopped in Dean’s sitting room and stared out at the darkening sky.

“I’m sorry, son,” he said, resigned. “You know what Sally’s like.”

 

“Oh, yeah.” Dean shook his head. “I don’t like this, Eric. I don’t like being accused of something I haven’t done, and I don’t like people searching my fucking cabin. Next time it isn’t happening, you get my drift?”

 

“Yes. I understand. There have been a few reports about a strange man, that’s all. We have to . . . you know, the safety of the town is imperative.”

 

Dean nodded and watched as Eric got into his car and revved up the engine. Observed as the car disappeared into the trees, until he was sure Eric was gone and then he put Patch on his leash and burst out of the cabin, heading towards the wrecked old place where he had first encountered John.

 

****

 

The door creaked open and John sat up in bed with a start. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but it had been warm under the blanket and he’d felt oddly secure. Now all of his senses were on edge, his stomach clenching. He threw back the old blanket and whirled around, getting to his feet just as Dean burst in through the door, face pale but cheeks red.

 

“John.” Dean’s voice was wrecked. “Thank God!”

 

He wobbled forward and, suddenly, he found himself in Dean’s arms, the grip tight and secure. He buried his head into the juncture between Dean’s neck and shoulder and he gripped tight onto his shirt.

 

For a moment, they stayed like that and then, without thought, he lifted his head and pressed his lips hard against Dean’s. The kiss, if that’s what you could call it, lasted a brief moment. Dean didn’t react. He let John’s mouth move against his own and then, gently, pushed him away. John’s heart was pounding and he wanted - fuck knows what he wanted. He just knew he _wanted_ , and he lunged forward again, gripping Dean hard enough to hurt.

 

This time the kiss took and held. Dean opened his mouth with a moan, and his tongue played lightly over John’s. Their bodies were so close that John could feel Dean’s chest solid against his own, his hips moving slightly, the hardness between his legs. 

 

“John.” Dean broke the kiss for a moment. “You want this?”

 

He did. He wasn’t even sure if he was gay or straight, married or single but he wasn’t wearing a ring and he was certain he didn’t belong to anyone else. He was Dean’s, as foolish as it sounded even in his own head. He was Dean’s through and through, and he felt as if he had never _belonged_ to anyone else. He nodded, trying to convey just how much he did want this, and Dean’s mouth curved into a smile.

 

“Not here though.” Dean’s voice was hoarse, his own need obvious. 

 

John let Dean take his hand as they left the wrecked cabin. He followed him through the woods back to Dean’s home, John’s home now, and back through the door. They paused briefly to let Patch off his leash and then they were headed towards Dean’s bedroom and there was no turning back.

 

****

 

He was shaking as Dean laid him carefully on the bed, and for a moment he felt like a damsel in distress, a princess. Dean was so gentle it was almost verging on frustrating, and he could feel his cock growing hard against the zipper of his jeans. Dean must have seen his eagerness, because he laughed softly, and put his hand over John’s erection, stroking it slowly and carefully through the thick denim. It was something but it wasn’t enough. John groaned and pushed himself up into Dean’s hand and was rewarded by nimble fingers finally unzipping him and setting him free.

A hand, strong and confident now, wrapped itself around him, and he moaned loudly. There was pre-cum now, and that was making it easier for Dean to move his hand. John huffed and moved so that he could get his own hands on Dean’s jeans, making short work of pulling them down over his hips, he licked his lips when he saw the pink head of Dean’s cock.

 

“Jesus, John.” Dean’s voice was hoarse, rough with desire and want. John grinned then and started to jack Dean’s cock so he was working in tandem with Dean, the two of them huffing and groaning, pushing their erections together like two eager teenagers needing desperately to come.

 

He wanted so much more, and he sat up swiftly, pulling off his clothes and throwing them haphazardly to the floor. He wanted Dean to fuck him, but he didn’t have a voice and couldn’t get the message across verbally. He rolled over and lifted himself up onto his elbows, showing Dean exactly what he had in mind. Dean’s face said it all, and John found himself laughing out loud, the only sound he could make that wasn’t a moan or a groan.  
“Have you done this before?” Dean stroked his thighs gently. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

 

He didn’t know, he didn’t remember, but he didn’t care. John thrust his ass up shamelessly, and he knew he had won when he heard Dean’s desperate moan and felt his fingers moving down. 

 

There was the click of a bottle and cold liquid trickled down his thighs. He bit his lip as Dean used his fingers one by one, until he felt Dean hit something that made his cock leap and his whole body spark with pleasure. He wanted to beg, to plead but all he could do was move back, open himself up to Dean. 

 

Dean gripped him by the hips and began to enter him. For a moment there was a stab of pain, but it was brief, and soon replaced by the sparking pleasure of earlier. Dean was moving inside him now, and he could feel every single thrust. Dean’s fingers reached around and tightened their grip around his cock and that was it for him. 

 

He climaxed silently. John was shaking with the force of it as he came seemingly endlessly, thrusting mindlessly into Dean’s hand and back onto his cock until he was almost boneless with it, and he heard Dean’s groan and felt him come, nothing between them and nothing needed.

 

****

Dean woke with a start. The early morning light filtered in through the glass and played across his face. He sighed contentedly and rolled over to stare at the man next to him, unable to believe what had just happened, unable to comprehend just how much he had wanted this, how much he had needed it. 

 

So, fuck, he was gay? Who knew? It was weird now he thought about it. There were no other gay men in town - well none that he knew of. He laughed. He couldn’t talk to John both because John couldn’t answer him and this was something that they needed to say to each other rather than write things down. He was pretty sure – no he was certain – that John was on the same page as him. Now all that mattered was keeping John away from Eric. And the rest of the town and trying to discover just who John actually was.

 

Speckled hazel eyes opened, and John’s face lit up into a wide, dimpled smile. Dean’s heart sped up, and he scolded himself for being so damn sappy. Despite everything, he still didn’t know anything about John, and Dean thought if John had to be cautious, he had to be.

 

“You okay?” He ignored his inner concern and stroked a finger down John’s cheek. John nodded as he snuggled up closer, head resting on Dean’s chest, fingers tracing random patterns on Dean’s stomach. “I didn’t hurt you?”

 

John shook his head _no_ , and sighed contentedly. Dean gave an answering smile.

 

“We need to find out who you are,” he said, reluctant to break the mood. “Sally – interfering woman that she is – is on my case. That’s why I had to get you out of here. I don’t think Eric will mention it again for a while, but we need to know where you belong.”

 

John shook his head and he pointed to Dean, eyes bright. Then he reached over to the bedside cabinet and lifted his pad. He scribbled the words fast and messy, and Dean had to swallow hard when he read them.

 

_You_ , he’d written. _I belong with you_.

 

“As much as I wish that was true, we both know it isn’t.” Dean hated that he sounded so harsh, that his words sounded so fucking final. “I belong here, but you – you’re not from these parts and that much is obvious.”

 

John looked like he might cry, eyes wide and soft like Patch’s when Dean told him off for peeing in the kitchen. It was a low blow, but Dean had to be realistic. John couldn’t stay here forever, as much as they both wanted it. Perhaps, when they finally found out who he was, Dean would leave town with him, finally get to travel the roads he’d dreamed about. For now though they needed to do some extensive research, and it was time to hit the laptop, again.

John watched Dean sleep. He looked peaceful and it made John feel kind of happy. Despite this, he knew things in Llepsarednu weren’t right. Dean’s behavior gave him some cause for concern, even though he couldn’t quite put his finger on why. One minute Dean was angry because Eric had come to his home and insisted on searching it and then the next he almost appeared to have forgotten about it.

 

The other thing was that Dean would tell John they were going to find out who he was. That they would find out where he belonged, and then like his anger, the idea would just _wither away_. John didn’t understand what was going on, but he did know that this wasn’t normal. 

 

The whole town was something of an enigma. No old people, no children, no schools, and no hospital. The crime rate was zero, and the only concern seemed to be whether strangers were seen in the vicinity. Most of the residents were married and there were only a few single people, Dean being one of them. 

 

John leaned over and ran a fingertip gently down Dean’s face, over the freckles on his cheek and down across his full lips. It was a face that John couldn’t stop looking at, that John had grown to love, and it hurt to think that he might have to leave Dean at some point either voluntarily or because he was driven away. 

 

He sighed. Something was biting at the back of his brain, something that made him feel really uneasy, as if this had happened before, like this wasn’t the first time he’d been forced to make this choice. Surely that couldn’t be the case; he’d only just met Dean. How could he have left him?

 

He got out of bed slowly and quietly so as not to disturb Dean. Tonight he was going to hack into the laptop and find some answers. He had to, even if it meant that this was goodbye.

 

****

 

It turned out that John was an expert hacker and soon he had managed to find his way out of the intranet and onto the actual web. It took him some time, and the dark sky was turning from navy to grey when he finally managed to access it. He glanced over to Dean’s room, but there was no sign of him stirring and, heart in mouth, he clicked on the search engine and put in the name of the town.

 

He couldn’t say he was surprised when nothing turned up. It appeared that Llepsarednu did not exist, not anywhere on the web or on several map apps or anywhere else that John could think of to look. The unease that had bugged him since he had first woken up with no memory, and no voice, became tenfold and he rubbed his face with shaking fingers, oddly shocked to find that it was damp with salt tears. In that moment, he wasn’t at all certain why he was crying, whether it was fear or concern or just plain frustration. He knew he should investigate missing persons, maybe find out where he came from, who he really was, but something stopped him from going further, and he clicked off the laptop, making his way slowly back to bed. 

 

When he opened his eyes again it was morning, bright and clear. Patch was outside barking, the scent of bacon coming from the kitchen. He could hear Dean humming, some tune he didn’t recognize, and he rolled onto his back, arm slung across his eyes. He knew he couldn’t go on like this, but he didn’t know how to change things. He didn’t belong here in Llepsarednu, but he belonged to Dean and that - that right there was the problem.

 

****

 

“Hey,” Dean said, grinning at him as he entered the kitchen. 

 

Dean looked satisfied, cheeks flushed and smile wide. John felt his own cheeks heat as he recalled what they had done last night, before he’d hacked the laptop. He wanted to do it again, he wanted to live here safe and warm under Dean’s protection, but he knew he couldn’t. He had already put Dean in _danger_ and had already alerted the rest of the town to his presence. He shouldn’t stay here. He couldn’t, but he had nowhere else to go. He had no one else to connect with, and he felt nothing but desperation as he realized that this was not going to end well.

 

He nodded back, acknowledging Dean, and sat down at the table. Bacon and eggs were placed in front of him and the very smell of the food made his mouth water. He smiled his thanks and began to eat while his mind formulated what he was going to do next. He ate slowly, savoring every bite as if this was literally his final meal, his proverbial _last supper_.

 

After breakfast, they took a leisurely walk with Patch. Dean was working late, so he figured he was going to start late. The two of them walked side by side, hands brushing, Dean a warm presence against him. The sun was shining and the sky almost unnaturally blue. John felt his throat close, the pain of it making him wince, his eyes stinging wet and salty.

 

Dean loved this place. For Dean it was truly a paradise, and John couldn’t be the one who destroyed it for him. He had to find out what was going on here, but he had to do it without putting Dean at any sort of risk. He loved the guy. Yeah, as stupid as it seemed after such short period of time, he already knew he loved the guy. He was in so deep that he was sinking, not swimming, and he had to get to shore before he drowned.

 

When Dean went to work, John hacked back into his laptop. He was huddled down in the bedroom with the drapes drawn as he began to search the net again, each time coming up with blanks. 

 

Desperate now, he began to search for Dean Campbell. He found very little: a Facebook page, some random emails and all of them relating to people in the town. Dean appeared to have no friends or family outside of Llepsarednu and that in itself was weird. John could find nothing more about Dean. There were no girlfriends, no boyfriends, and no personal profiles. Apart from an ad for Dean’s business, there was nothing, and John felt the hairs on his neck stand up as he stared at the computer screen. Whatever was going on here, it wasn’t right.

 

There were no missing person reports pertaining to him, but there were quite a few about  
people – both men and women – who had gone missing in woods in a certain area. Looking closely at the grainy photographs, John was pretty sure that he recognized the place, and his mouth grew dry as he realized that the woods were exactly the same as the ones that surrounded Llepsarednu. He bit his lip frustrated. Maybe he should try something else but what? He clicked on another tab and began to search for local police reports. When they threw up nothing he widened his search so it was by sheer co-incidence that he found the wanted posters, wanted posters from several years back and wanted posters that had Dean’s face on them. He went deeper, clicking the mouse as if his life depended on it. Yeah it was Dean alright but his name appeared to be Winchester not Campbell. Further searches led him to the fact that Dean Winchester had died in St Louis back in 2005 and that he had been survived by his brother Sam.

 

He googled Sam Winchester with growing trepidation and when the image of Dean’s brother appeared on screen his heart leaped into his throat and he had to stop for a while to put his head between his knees while his world swam, and he swallowed down the urge to either pass out or vomit - the face on that poster was his own. 

 

He had no recollection of being Sam Winchester. There was still a huge, black hole where his memories of being Sam should be, and he found himself rocking back and forth, tears pouring down his cheeks as he wept for everything he had lost and, ironically, for everything he had found. 

 

Finally he struck up enough courage to continue searching and he began to, methodically, work his way through the search results. What he read about the _infamous_ Winchesters was enough to fill several books. They were fugitives, law breakers, arrested on numerous occasions, with charges ranging from grave desecration, possession of firearms, kidnap, and, most disturbingly, murder. They had been wanted by the police in several states and they had been pursued by the FBI. 

However it appeared that Sam and Dean had been killed in Ankeny, Iowa back in 2011. He blinked – so Dean had died twice – and Sam shouldn’t be alive either.  
He had no explanation for any of this, and he turned off the laptop, placing it carefully on the desk and making sure he’d covered his tracks, because he didn’t want Dean to know he had been snooping. He felt exhausted, worn down, and he just wanted to sleep. His mind was fuzzy with thoughts whirling around his head. He knew who he was now, but he was no better off than he had been prior to knowing. He didn’t remember being Sam Winchester, but it was also clear that Dean had no recollection of being a Winchester either. 

 

Eventually, he lay down on the couch and turned on the TV. He found the blur of images and noise oddly comforting and he closed his eyes. His final thought, not as disturbing as it should have been, was, _l slept with my own brother_.

Dean arrived home late to find his home in semi-darkness, and he felt panic thrum through him, wondering if something had happened to John. Patch, as usual, greeted him at the door, and Dean let him out quickly before searching the room, relief almost flooring him as he spotted John fast asleep on the sofa with the TV playing, a low hum of noise.

 

“Hey.” He put his hand on John’s shoulder and startled hazel eyes met his. John was milk white, the bones of his cheeks standing out in stark relief, his hair all over the place and his mouth open soundlessly. “Hey, are you okay?”

 

John nodded, but it was obvious that he wasn’t okay at all. He was staring at Dean as if he hadn’t seen him before. His mouth was opening and closing, and his frustration at being unable to speak was obvious. It was almost as if he had only just realized his affliction. Dean lowered himself down next to John and put a hand on his shoulder. John was still staring at him, and there were tears sparkling clear on his lashes. Alarm made Dean squeeze hard, John’s muscles bunching tight beneath his grip.

 

“What’s wrong?” He kept his voice light, tender almost. “Do you want to write it down?”

 

John shook his head vehemently and the tears that had been threatening began to drip steadily down his cheeks as he wiped at them angrily, taking a deep breath as if he was trying to center himself. Dean swallowed, his heart beating faster and stomach clenching.

 

Without thought, he bent forward and pressed his lips against John’s. He tensed for the shortest of moments, and Dean was convinced he was going to pull away but, instead, he pulled Dean closer, his mouth opening and eyes closing in utter and complete surrender.

 

The sex wasn’t tender this time. It was rough and hard and oddly desperate. John was on his back, ankles tight around Dean’s waist, arms locked around his neck, holding on for dear life as Dean pounded into him. It was almost life-affirming, this physical bond between them. A bond that shouldn’t be there. 

 

For his part, as he clung to Dean John wondered what sort of sick bastard he was. They shouldn’t be doing this because they were brothers, but that was in another life and another time, and John wasn’t that guy in the photographs. He wasn’t Sam, not now. Now he was Dean’s, and he gripped Dean tighter and tighter, urging him in deeper until he didn’t know where he ended and Dean began.

 

****

 

Afterwards, as they lay in each other’s arms, Dean could feel John’s heart beating against his own, and he realized just how much he loved him. He realized just how much he wanted him. It wouldn’t be easy, because no one knew about John, and Dean couldn’t risk telling anyone. They had no idea who John really was, and Dean couldn’t comprehend how they were going to find out, but Dean was certain that they would find a way. It was as if they were made for each other. They were destined to be together, and nothing, nothing would ever change that.

 

Sam got up slowly. Dean was still fast asleep on his side of the bed, lying on his stomach, his hand lodged under the pillow. They had moved from the couch to _somewhere more comfortable_ and Sam hadn’t had the heart to protest. He’d sworn to himself that he wouldn’t sleep with Dean again knowing what he knew, but he couldn’t help himself. He was in so deep there was no chance of climbing out, and he buried his head in his hands, tears coming to his eyes unbidden, ashamed at the fact he was crying – again.  
There had to be some explanation for all of this, but he didn’t have one and he didn’t know how to go about getting one or where to start. All he did know was, deep down, he didn’t feel like a wanted criminal. He didn’t feel like someone who had hurt people, desecrated graves and spent time digging up corpses. He stared down at Dean – at his _brother_. They had obviously come to this place together. The fact they were both here was too much to be a coincidence. All Sam had to do was to find out what had happened, but he had no idea how.

 

***

Llepsarednu had to be the key to it all. During his research on Dean’s laptop, he had found nothing about the town, only the woods where people had gone missing. There had to be a connection. 

 

Sam crept out of the bedroom and into the living room. It was pitch black, and he couldn’t see much other than the outline of the window and Patch’s furry fat body sleeping on the rug in front of the dwindling fire. 

 

Sam sat down on the floor and reached for the flashlight that Dean kept underneath the coffee table, turning it on so that he had a halo of orange light behind him and taking the note pad that he used to communicate in his hands. 

 

He frowned, biting at the pen in frustration. What the hell was he going to do? How the hell was he going to solve this fucking mystery without hurting Dean, or himself? Or hurting them both? 

 

He bit his lip and leaned over the pad. He could see his own chicken scratch writing, notes that he had left for Dean, explanations of how he was feeling, and what he might like for his dinner. He scribbled down the name of the town over and over, and then, suddenly, it was as if a light-bulb had gone off in his head and he tipped back on his heels unable to believe it, amazed he hadn’t seen it before.

 

_Llepsarednu_ turn it around and it read _under a spell_. It was so obvious it was almost inane, and he stared at what he had written. There was something worming its way into his skull, a sudden clearing of the fog in his mind. It was almost as if solving one puzzle had unlocked another. There were images, sharp and bright as they flashed through his mind. He saw himself and Dean walking through the woods. He saw streaks of red and almost felt the rain on his face. There was someone else there, someone in the periphery, a woman wavering and indistinct, but he felt as if he knew her. His stomach churned as he tried to work out just who it was.

“I hoped that it wouldn’t come to this.” A voice, light and soft, startled him. He looked up and was shocked to see that the woman was in Dean’s living room, large as life, eyes burning silver and hair flowing over naked shoulders. Sam was frozen in place, staring at the vision before him. Fear was gripping him so tight he could barely move.

 

“Sam,” she said and smiled, incredibly gently given the circumstances. “We need to talk.”

 

***

 

Dean woke with a start. He could hear Patch barking, not his usual _’There’s a squirrel_ ’ bark but an urgent, almost hysterical noise. He shot out of bed, noting that the space next to him was empty and cold. The two things together made his heart beat faster, and his stomach turn. 

 

He skidded butt-naked into the lounge to find Patch barking, the hairs on his back standing up, teeth bared, and gums showing. He couldn’t see anything amiss; there was nothing outside and nothing inside either. He went to his knees and pet Patch, trying to calm him, but the dog was beyond comforting, and he howled piteously, making sweat break out on Dean’s forehead. Something was definitely fucking going on, and Dean needed to know what it was. 

 

“John?” Dean looked around frantically. “John, where the fuck are you?”

No response. Not that Dean expected one given the fact John had never spoken, but he didn’t appear either, and Dean left Patch to his own devices for a moment while he searched each and every room. 

 

There was no sign of John; and it was as if he had never been. Dean slumped down on his haunches, burying his head in his hands; Patch’s howling a hideous soundtrack to his desperation. 

 

Had someone found out about John and taken him? If so, where? He should really contact Eric, but that would mean confessing he knew about John in the first place. He was in too deep, and he didn’t know how to get out of this. 

 

Tears stung his lashes and he wondered why the hell he felt like this. John had become the center of his world, and he had to find him. He had to find him now.

He knew who he was. He remembered every single worthless thing about his life, and it hurt. It hurt like hell. He was back in the woods, the earth damp at his feet, the stink of loam in his nostrils. There was a buzzing in his head and a pain in his gut, and he could feel the tears forming on his lashes, salty and full of guilt.

 

The woman was no longer naked. She looked normal, immaculately dressed in pressed denim and a green blouse that brought out the red in her hair. She smiled at him and shook her head ruefully.

“Sam Winchester,” she murmured. “Quite the celebrity”.

“Who are you?” And just like that he could talk again. His voice was rough from disuse, but it was back. “What the hell is going on here?”

“I am the spirit of these woods,” the woman replied as her eyes glowed again. “I have lived an eternity, and more, and I was so, so lonely.”

“I don’t understand.” Sam felt so weak he had to sit, the wet ground soaking into his jeans, making him shiver fitfully.

“I mean no harm,” she said and smiled. “I only choose those who are like me; lonely and without purpose, those who need peace and security. I give them what they need.”

“The town?” Sam stared up at her. “The people?”

“The town is my construct, a paradise here on this plane of existence. Everything is perfect. There’s no pain, no illness, and no death. I give them all good health and a believable past. They are content and happy.”

“But you are holding them against their will. You’ve wiped their memories. You don’t give them a choice.” Even as he spoke he could hear the desperation in his voice, but there was something deep down inside of him that understood what she was saying. He desired to be like those people before he remembered. His brother was there. Dean was there and Sam, wanted, no needed, him back.

“When I found them they had nothing. Women who had lost children, men who had no job or no future, people who were damaged in some way. Their lives were so full of pain and guilt.” She smiled gently and touched his shoulder. “I meant to take both of you. I wanted to release you from your own torture, but something went wrong. The spell didn’t take, and you were left with no memories at all. I feared for you, and for the others who would be tainted by your presence, but it appears your brother is protective of you in any situation.”

“Yeah.” Sam managed an ironic grin, “I guess he is.”

“See it my way, Sam,” she continued. “These people are happy. They have homes, jobs they love, and friends and neighbors who care.”

“But there are no children. There are no families.”

“Children cause pain and anguish.” She shook her head. “There is no need for them, and let us face facts, Sam . . . you and your brother were never going to have them, so what you never had you couldn’t possibly miss.”

He stared at her. He had no weapons, no gun or knife. Even if he were armed, he didn’t have the first clue as to what could kill her. Whatever she was, he was here at her mercy, and all he could do was stare at her, helpless and lost, a boy who just wanted his big brother back.

When Patch finally calmed down Dean, put the leash on him and led him out into the woods. He strained to keep his heart rate steady, and tried not to panic, but he was struggling.

 

He called out John’s name over and over, but there was no response and he grew increasingly distressed. Had John freaked and left him? Had he just been fooling with Dean all along? 

He shook his head. There was no way that was the case. There was nothing John had done to make Dean believe it, John had cared for him. They had cared for each other. He bit his lip and plunged deeper into the woods. He would find John if it was the last thing he did.

 

****

 

“So what happens now?” Sam was finally forced to ask the question. “Are you going to kill me?”

“I am someone that loves humans and only wants the best for them. I cannot harm you, nor do I wish to.”

“Then what’s gonna happen? You obviously know that I’m a hunter. You know that my brother is a hunter, and you know that I can’t leave here without him.”

“But you can.” Her face was soft now and she looked unbelievably young. “You can leave here knowing how happy Dean is.”

“I can’t,” he shook his head. “I can’t do that, I can’t leave Dean.”

“Sam.” She reached out and touched him, and he felt as if his skin was on fire. “You have to think about this. You have to listen. When I first took a person it was Eric - my husband,” she said and smiled at the memory. “He was so lost. He was a homeless drunk, who had nothing and no one. His unhappiness was palpable. I felt as if I would do anything to save him. He had come here to die. I did not want that, so I created this town for him. At first there was just the two of us, but then visitors came from time to time. Some were just tourists, and happy with their lives, but others . . . others were lost, and scared, and they needed peace. So Llepsarednu grew and grew. I meant no harm.”

“But Dean . . . .”

“Think, Sam. Think about how unhappy your brother has been. He’s been looking for your mom and mourning his lost friend. Think of his life, of hell, and of the curse of the mark. Here all of that does not exist. Here he has a good life. A peaceful life.”

“But he loves me!” 

 

And there it was, out there in the air between them, the very fact that Dean loved Sam. Dean loved Sam so much that even when he was unaware of their true relationship as siblings, they were still drawn to one another. Sam had slept with Dean. He’d had sex with Dean, and he didn’t feel even a pang of regret. There had never been anyone Sam loved as much as Dean, and there never would be. 

“I know, Sam. That is part of the problem, is it not? Obsessive love, a love that has killed, that has maimed, and that has become all- consuming. If Dean stays here, that link will finally be broken and no one else will be harmed. You will both get a new start. I will find a girl for Dean. I will wipe you from his memory and give him what he wants and needs. You can stop hunting for good. You can leave the life and get the _’normal’_ you have always sought and wanted.”

“No!” his mouth was dry and he felt tears sting his lashes again. Even as he spoke he knew that the being before him had a point. He’d been down that road himself once or twice - after Dean had vanished with Dick, after Dean had stopped him from closing the gates of Hell, and after Dean had stuffed an angel inside of him - but that all seemed like a lifetime ago. They had been so close recently. Both working as a team, working towards the same goal. They’d been bonding with mom, finally destroying the British Men of Letters, and agreeing that Jack could be good. “I don’t want that anymore.”

“You have to think of Dean, Sam. You have to think about what he wants, and what he needs. Will you deny him peace and happiness, just for your own selfish desires?”

 

“JOHN!”

Before Sam could open his mouth to reply to her, Dean came bursting through the undergrowth, Patch barking at his side. He was panting, his face red with exertion and his eyes wide. He skidded to an abrupt halt, skin growing pale at the sight before him. 

 

“John? Sally?” A frown dented his forehead and he moved forward a little. “What the fuck?”

 

Sam turned, unable to stop himself from pulling his brother into a hug, holding him constricted against his chest and burying his face into the juncture between his neck and shoulder. Dean reciprocated immediately, his arms tightening almost painfully.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” he whispered. “I thought . . . .”

The being that Dean had called Sally smiled, and Sam could almost hear her thoughts.

“Why not tell him the truth now?” Her voice was gentle. “Tell him about your decision to leave, to let him live his life.”

“What?” Dean snapped out of the hug and whirled around so he faced _Sally_. “What are you talking about?”

“Dean,” Sam could see the utter amazement in Dean’s face at the sound of his voice. 

“You can talk now?” Dean shook his head. “What the fuck?” He repeated.

“Tell him, Sam.” The being came closer. “Give him the peace he craves.”

 

“Sally, shut the fuck up!” Dean sounded angry now. “I want to know what’s going on here.”

“I-I . . . .” Sam began as his throat closed. “I’m sorry, Dean. This is all so wrong. You’ve been living under an enchantment for a while.” He didn’t know whether it was days, weeks, or months. “We both had our memories wiped by her,” he said and waved a hand towards _Sally_.

Dean shook his head as if to deny, but he didn’t say anything. He stared at _Sally_ and she nodded, slowly.

“What he is saying is the truth, Dean, but there is so much more to this isn’t there, Sam?” 

“Is that your real name? Sam?” Dean’s voice wavered and Sam recognized the tone of panic.  
“Do we know each other?” 

 

“I-I...,” Sam couldn’t say it; he knew his brother only too well and he knew how he would react to this. He glanced at _Sally_ , hoping she could see the plea in his eyes. He had made his decision now, and he could only pray it was the right one. “I’m gonna do what you suggested,” he addressed her, ignoring Dean’s sharp intake of breath. “I’m gonna leave. It’s for the best.”

“NO!” Dean grabbed his arm, his fingers digging in so hard it was painful. “No, you’re not going anywhere, John . . . . Sam. Whatever the fuck your name is! Don’t I get a say in this?” He whirled around so he was face to face with _Sally_. “I don’t want to stay here without him, do you understand? I don’t care who he is, or what he’s done, I love him.”

“I have tried to help you. I’ve tried to help you both, but it is clear you are beyond my help, so I am going to do this for you. I am going to restore you memories, including everything that has happened here. You will wake up back in your bunker, and you will know all that has gone before,” she said and smiled at Dean. “And if you feel at any moment that you want to come back here and regain your peace, your paradise, then just call my name, and I will be there.”

 

With that she snapped her fingers and there was a flash of red light that almost blinded them. Then the world whirled about them and turned to black.

Dean opened his eyes. The mattress beneath him was soft and melded to his body. He ached, and his mouth was dry, but a quick catalogue of his working parts told him he was whole.

 

He was clearly not in Llepsarednu anymore, but then if his memories served him right, which he was afraid they did, then Llepsarednu didn’t actually exist. It had been a fantasy, but it had been painfully real to him, and he could recall every single moment of his time there right down to the fact he had fallen in love with and slept with his own brother.

 

He rolled over onto his back and flung an arm across his face. The bunker was cold and smelled vaguely of chemicals. He missed the brightness of the day through his big windows and the soft, warm feel of the Jack Russell dog in his arms. He’d never been a great animal lover, but Patch had been as real to him as everything else, and he couldn’t help but wonder what was going to happen to the dog now . . . . Did he still exist? Or was he only present in the world that _Sally_ , or whoever she was, had created for him?

 

He sat up then. He couldn’t lie here all day. Eventually he would have to get up and face the world. This world. His real world. Which also meant facing Sam. He bit his lip and rubbed at his face angrily. In any world, it appeared he loved his brother with a fierceness that was damaging, but this time he didn’t know if they could repair the cracks. What had happened was all sorts of wrong, but Dean couldn’t bring himself to regret it even if deep down, he knew he should.

Sam stared at the coffee pot as if it were a nest of vipers. He wanted coffee, lots of it. For the first time in a long time he found himself splashing whiskey into the bottom of his mug, more whiskey than cream if truth be told, but he knew that all the alcohol in the world would not and could not dull the memory of Dean inside him; of Dean’s hands on his body, and of his powerful but surprisingly tender kisses.

 

Sam had felt loved. He had felt really, truly loved. Sure, he knew his brother DID love him. He knew Dean was devoted to him, and he had proved it on hundreds, probably thousands of occasions, but this – this had been the sort of love Sam had once had with Jess, perhaps even more intense. Sam knew that the ‘Dean’ that had lived in Llepsarednu was a different animal from the Dean that lived here in the bunker. 

 

In fact, Sam had been on the very edge of giving the creature what she wanted, giving her Dean. Dean was so happy back there. There were laughter lines instead of wrinkles of worry, and sparkling green eyes where they had been dulled by pain here. They had both lost so much but, somehow, Dean was the one who had lost the most. Sam wanted to give his brother the contentment he deserved. 

 

As usual Dean had gone and chosen Sam, and now they were back in the bunker and all that had happened before hung over them like the sword of Damocles.

 

“Coffee? That’s a great idea.” Dean breezed in through the kitchen door looking almost comically bright. He was wearing his usual faded denim and plaid and looked so familiar it almost broke Sam’s heart. “Irish, too,” he said and nodded to the whiskey in Sam’s other hand. “A little early for that isn’t it, Sam?”

 

“It’s happy hour somewhere, Dean,” Sam replied with Dean’s usual response, but it sounded stilted and awkward even to his own ears. Dean grinned, but there was nothing in his eyes, and it all seemed very fake. “You want some breakfast?”

“Yeah, anything with grease.” Dean sat down at the table and poured whiskey straight into his mug. The liquid went down fast, but Dean didn’t even pause, slugging back another mouthful. “Do we have bacon?”

Sam shrugged. He didn’t know what they had in the fridge. According to his desk calendar they had been _away_ for over eight weeks. They would almost certainly need to do a supply run at some point, but he didn’t even know where the Impala was. Last time he’d seen her was on the outskirts of the woods near fucking Llepsarednu, and he could only hope that _Sally_ had used her magic to transport Baby back, too.

His memory of what happened was clear, but there was no recollection of where it happened or even where they’d stayed before hitting the woods. Apart from the time jump everything was much the same as it was when they’d left the bunker. No mom. No Cas and no Jack. Sam closed his eyes and rubbed over the bridge of his nose, a pain beginning to throb somewhere in his left temple. This was all so fucked up, and he didn’t have the faintest idea of where to begin to put it right. 

“Sammy?” The term of endearment had once annoyed him but now only served to make him realize just how much they could lose because of this. He swallowed hard, not wanting Dean to see the sting of tears in his eyes.

“Yeah,” he replied, the word catching in his throat.

“We should talk about this.” Dean smiled mockingly. “I know I’m the one who usually avoids conversations but. . . .” he said and bit his lip, wincing painfully. “We really need to talk about this.”

“Dean.” A shudder went through Sam’s body and he shook his head even as he spoke. Yeah, he knew they should talk but what could they say? The last time they had slept together Sam had known they were brothers. He’d still had no memory of being brothers but he’d known, and he’d had sex with Dean regardless.

Dean sat down beside him, pouring another shot of whiskey as he did so. He didn’t touch Sam, not even a friendly squeeze of the shoulder, and that made him realize just how bad the situation was.

 

“Sammy, I know what happened was . . . .” Dean flushed then, a rare thing, the tips of his ears reddening. “I know I wasn’t myself but . . . .”

 

Sam put his hands out, palms upwards, as if he could ward Dean off. No amount of salt or holy water could exorcise this demon, nothing could destroy this monster that sat silently between them. He wanted to run and hide, but he’d done enough of that in his life and he couldn’t do it to his brother again. So he sat back on his chair and rubbed at his face. Taking a deep breath he turned and faced his brother.

“I enjoyed it, Dean. I wanted it and the last time . . . the last time we did it, I knew we were brothers. I knew! But I still wanted it. I wanted you. I don’t know what we can do. I don’t know what I can say that will change anything, but I love you. Dean, I loved you then and I love you now. If it’s wrong then - then we’ll just have to live with it, the same way we’ve lived with all the rest of the guilt and secrets between us.”

 

****

 

Dean sat on his bed with his head in his hands. There were no windows in the bunker, and he didn’t have his watch, so he had no idea how much time had passed since Sam’s surprising _confession_. 

 

He knew he hadn’t reacted well, slamming down his coffee and rushing from the kitchen without looking back. He was aware of Sam’s voice calling him. He was aware of his brother banging hard on his door until his knuckles must have ached, but Dean had pointedly ignored him and after, who knows how the fuck long, Sam had walked away. 

 

Now Dean was making up scenarios in his head: _Sam leaving him again. Sam packing up his things and finding somewhere else, someone else; Sam angry again, like he’d been after Gadreel; Sam ignoring him, the two of them working as partners instead of brothers. Sam calling him weak and putting his hands around Dean’s throat, squeezing . . . ._. 

 

He shook himself. How fucking stupid was he? Sam wasn’t that person anymore. Sam hadn’t been that person in over four years. They’d been on the same page now for a long time, and Dean had been content but, despite that, there was always something trying to tear them apart. Be it angel, demon, God, monster or, even worse, human; there was always someone or something, gunning for the Winchesters, and Dean wished, with all of his heart, that it would stop.

 

Along with the bitter feeling in his gut, there were also the last vestiges of guilt. Like Sam, Dean had enjoyed the sex between them and, like Sam, he didn’t regret it. Deep, deep down there was the vague and almost desperate hope that it would happen again. He wanted that closeness again. He wanted that feeling of utter adoration that he’d only ever gotten from his brother. 

 

It wasn’t surprising that the devotion they’d always felt had now become physical and, even if he searched his very soul, Dean couldn’t actually feel that they’d done anything wrong. It wasn’t as if they could procreate, and they weren’t actually harming anyone. His last meaningful relationship had been with Lisa, and that had been so long ago he could barely recall it. For Sam it had been Amelia and, as his brother never even mentioned her, he guessed that Sam felt the same.

The other thing bothering him was that he could also recall what he had caught _Sally_ and Sam talking about. He couldn’t deny the fact that Sam had wanted him to stay. He had seen the indecision on his brother’s face, and he knew that Sam had been considering _Sally’s_ proposition. Sam had wanted him to be happy, and wanted him to forget the life he had here. 

 

Things had been so uncomplicated back in _Sally’s_ fucking paradise, and he couldn’t  
help but wish that they both could have stayed there. They’d both been blissful and content, but Winchesters didn’t get to have that sort of life. He laughed, bitterly and shook his head. There was no answer to this particular problem and they might never get past it.

**** 

Sam had stared at his brother’s resolutely closed door for long enough and now, in his own bedroom, he was stuffing as much as he could fit into his duffle, the rest of his belongings into trash bags. There were plenty of cars, or even motorbikes, in the bunker’s garage, so he had his choice of transport. 

 

In his head he was trying to work out just how long it would take him to get to where he wanted to go. He wasn’t absolutely sure where the mythical Llepsarednu was but he was certain he had the smarts to find it. He wasn’t fucking stupid and he wasn’t deaf either. He’d heard what _Sally_ had said to Dean, and he knew that she would keep her promise. All he wanted, all he’d ever wanted in his own selfish fucked up way, was for Dean to be happy. Dean had been happy in Llepsarednu, and he could be happy there again. All Sam had to do was make the wish, and then get the hell out. After that he didn’t really have a plan, but Dean’s happiness was so paramount to him that it had almost become an obsession.  
He couldn’t blame his brother for freaking out, particularly when he mentioned that he’d known about their relationship and still let Dean fuck him. Despite all of this, he couldn’t bring himself to regret anything, and there was a part of him that wished they could be like that here in the bunker. He wished they could be lovers as well as brothers and have some contentment in their lives at least.

“What are you doing, Sam?”

Dean’s voice made him jump. His brother must have opened the door silently to sneak up on him like that, but then again, Dean was a hunter and his skills were finely honed after years of training and even more years of actually doing the job.

“Um.” He felt his ears flare hot, and he gestured weakly to his duffle. “I was leaving. Giving you some space for a while and giving us both a chance to get our head around everything,” he swallowed. 

“Yeah,” Dean’s sardonic grin didn’t reach his eyes. “That right?”

“I just thought we needed space and time.”

“So you weren’t planning on going and not coming back then?” Dean knew him too well, it appeared. “Taking a little trip down to _Llepsarednu_? Do a little digging? Make a little wish?”

Sam bit his lip hard enough to sting, the taste of copper in his mouth. he refused to let his brother see him cry, refused to let the tears fall.

 

“Dean . . . .” he began but his brother shook his head fervently.

 

“Shut the fuck up, Sammy.” Strong hands came out and grabbed his arms, fingers painful around his biceps. “Just stop fucking lying to me.”

“I wasn’t. I only wanted . . . .” 

“I know what you wanted. It ain’t happening – you get me?”

“You were happy there, Dean. You were so happy and I just wanted that for you. She said you could go back. You go back anytime. You can be happy again, and all of this – Mom – Cas – Jack – you won’t have to worry.”

“Sammy.” The pressure on his arms gentled, and Dean leaned back so he could look Sam in the eyes. “I can’t be happy without you. You of all people should know that by now.”

“You wouldn’t remember me.”

“Even _Sally_ with all of her spells and incantations couldn’t alter the way I feel about you. Even if I can’t remember, I can’t forget you.”

 

Sam felt something break inside his chest, and he slumped against his brother’s body. Dean held him fast for a moment and then lowered him down onto the bed. He sat next to Sam and ran a hand through messy hair.

“Just rest for a while. Okay, Sam? Close your eyes, and I’ll be here when you open them again.”

“Dean?”

“Just shut your eyes and your mouth. It’s been a shock for both of us, but we can get over this. Not if you keep trying to push me away, though.”

Sam swallowed again, and he realized that he did indeed feel exhausted. His eyes were sore, and his lids felt so heavy he could barely keep them open. Not for the first time, he did as his brother asked, and he lay back on the pillow letting sleep take him.

Dean watched his brother sleep. Sam was thinner than usual and as pale as death. Their experience in Llepsarednu had not been as kind to his brother as it had to him, and it was clear that Sam was suffering. Unable to resist, he moved forward and brushed a lock of hair away from Sam’s face. His fingers shook a little as he did so, and Sam sighed, shifting. Dean sat still for the longest of time.

“Damn it,” he grinned and moved so that he was lying next to Sam. The bed was a little small for that, but he didn’t care as he rolled over and put an arm across Sam’s flat stomach, fingers playing idly with his belt loops. 

 

The love that surged through him was actually painful, and he shifted even closer, the sudden need to hold and protect filling his body. He loved his little brother. He loved him in all the ways that were right and all the many ways that were wrong. There was no damn way he was letting Sam go again, and he was determined to keep him here.

 

It was time, he mused, to stop worrying about everyone else, and to concentrate on Sammy. Sure, they had to get mom back, had to look for Jack but it wasn’t urgent. 

 

They had been gone for two whole months - two months in Llepsarednu - and nothing had changed. The world hadn’t ended, monsters still existed, their friends were still missing, and the only real constant had been Sam. 

 

Dean smiled to himself then, warmth flooding his body, his jeans growing tighter at the feel and scent of his brother’s familiar form. Right or wrong, they were bound to each other, and Dean wasn’t going to let that change. He snuggled closer still, ready to deny to Sam that he was cuddling should his brother wake. They were doing this, and they were doing it together.

 

****

Sam awoke slowly and felt relaxed, peaceful, and warm. Dean’s head was tucked into the juncture of his neck, snuffling at the skin there, and Sam thought he was either back in Llepsarednu or dreaming.

“Dean?”

Whatever he was going to say was kissed thoroughly out of him, his brother’s lips enveloping his own with a desperate and unexpected passion. Sam didn’t tense or fight. Instead he just relaxed into it, opening his mouth and letting Dean inside, their tongues wrapping around each other, Dean’s hands coming up to grasp his ass and pull him in close, their clothed erections brushing together and making Sam gasp in pleasure. 

“Yeah, Sammy,” Dean hissed, hoarse. “Just like that.”

It should have been awkward but it wasn’t. It was wonderful, and it felt so fucking right.

 

****

 

Sam didn’t really know why Dean chose to go back to the area where they thought Llepsarednu was located. Back, to the wet and cold woods. The bare winter trees still hung like skeletons above them, the mud still sloppy beneath their boots. Deep down, he wondered if Dean had changed his mind, and was going to ask _Sally_ to take him back and, to be fair, he wouldn’t fight his brother on that. 

 

“I’m not longing to go back there.” As usual, it appeared that Dean was reading his mind. “At the end of the day there are still missing people out there, and there is still a supernatural being that needs ganking.”

“Are you really gonna gank _Sally_ , or whatever she is?”

“Yeah, last time I checked killing things like her was what we did.”

Sam nodded. He’d spent hours on research looking into the history of the missing, and it had not made for good reading. The being had been right when she said she only took the lost and the lonely. Without exception, all of the missing were people with no homes, no families, and no real hope. If they did ‘gank’ this thing, then they were going to be left with people who – probably – didn’t even want to live, and he couldn’t help but question this decision.

“You don’t think we should be doing this, do you, Sam?” Again, Dean was mind-reading.

“No.” Sam looked briefly at his brother and then back across the miles of cold, unwelcoming greenery. “This thing – whatever she is, what she’s doing isn’t really all that bad. It’s not evil either. In a way she’s saving people. She thought she was saving you.”

Dean was silent for a moment. he was thinking of Llepsarednu, thinking about his _job_ and Patch. He didn’t actually know why he had insisted they come back here. Perhaps he just wanted closure, but maybe he just wanted to be content and happy again. He wanted to have Sam without the guilt of them being brothers. He wanted to have a home and a life without fucking crippling remorse. Perhaps he had wanted to come back here for all the wrong reasons. Perhaps he was just one second away from calling _Sally_ and asking her to take him – well both of them – back.

“We can have all this without Sally, y’know.” Sam’s voice broke through his musings and he turned to look at his brother.

Sam looked pale, his face thinner than it had been, all of that boyhood puppy fat gone, bones standing out on cheek and jaw, eyes dark and intense. There was an expression on his face that Dean had never really seen before, a mixture of hope and concern, a desperate want for something that they’d never really had.

“What do you mean?”

“We can have a better life, not a normal life. Our _job_ will never allow us to have that, but we CAN have a happier life. Maybe have some downtime now and again, go to the movies, eat out at nice restaurants,” he said and smiled then and Dean saw dimples for the first time in a long time. “And we can have. . . .” A flush colored his cheeks. “Something real. Something physical. I don’t feel guilty, and I don’t think you do either. We don’t say it often, but I’m gonna say it now and _no chick flick moments_ be damned! I’m in love with you.”

Dean swallowed down the lump that had formed in his throat and he shook his head, tears stinging sharp against his lashes. He moved fast, before he could change his mind, and pulled his brother into his arms holding him tight against his chest, his mouth against the soft skin of his neck, Sam’s breath warm on his skin.

“I love you too, bitch.”

He felt, rather than heard, his brother laugh, a rumble that jolted them both. Around them the woods seem to come to life, birds tweeting, the sun rising up through the treetops and filling the place with light. It was clichéd, like something from a fairy tale, and Dean could feel his own laughter bubble in his throat, a sudden lightness making him feel almost faint with joy.

“She’s here, Dean,” Sam whispered, almost reverential. “She’s giving us the thumbs-up.”  
Dean nodded. He let his brother go and they picked up their bags. There wasn’t a job here, probably never was. Happiness was such a tangible thing that it would be crass to destroy it. _Sally_ whoever or whatever she was, had done what she had done out of goodness, not evil, and it wasn’t their call to fuck it up, not now, not ever.

He slung an arm around Sam’s shoulder and they moved through the trees, the glint of the Impala visible in the distance. The day had only just begun, and it was clearly going to be beautiful. Dean wanted to spend it with Sam.

 

***

 

Things didn’t change overnight, and they didn’t change drastically at all. Perhaps Dean was expecting something to happen, a bolt of lightning maybe, or frogs raining from the sky. All that did happen was that Dean changed his bed for a King size, bought a huge memory foam mattress, and decorated the room so that it would suit Sam’s tastes as well as his own.  
Sam seemed delighted with what Dean had done, and they celebrated with awesome guilt-free sex. Dean found that he liked waking up with Sam sprawled over him like a blanket. He found he liked making his brother breakfast and, most of all, he enjoyed getting laid regularly. 

 

It appeared that Sam was also reaping the benefits. He looked healthier, fitter, and the weight he’d previously lost was slowly beginning to come back. 

They still hunted of course. They still looked for their mom and Jack, and still searched for ways to put everything right, but it was noticeably different. They were happier, and as near to content as they were ever likely to get. They had some much needed downtime and went to the movies, drove the Impala for miles just to take a walk. They ate out more; found a nice little Thai place just outside of Lebanon. Sam even volunteered at an animal center and walked the dogs there.

It wasn’t a normal life by any means, and it was nothing like the _life_ Dean had lived in Llepsarednu but it was their life, Sam and Dean’s. It was a life that, finally, both of them wanted to live.


End file.
